


Creatures of Distance (can't draw the line but they see clear)

by Werewolf_Prince_Charming



Category: Power Rangers (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon Autistic Character, Direct Action, Established Relationship, F/F, Future Fic, Government Agencies, Jason has anger issues, M/M, NSA Agent, Slow Burn, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, This is definitely gonna get political, Voyeurism, angry masturbation, anti-government, cranscott is slow burn, that includes Billy, trimberly is established, zeo rangers are nsa agents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-12 14:33:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13549353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Werewolf_Prince_Charming/pseuds/Werewolf_Prince_Charming
Summary: Billy Cranston moved away from Angel Grove the summer after 5th grade. He never got to finish his dad's pet project at the quarry, but he did manage to complete a 5 year program in 4 and use his newly acquired Masters degree to land a cushy government job.Jason got out of jail, then got the hell out of Angel Grove with the friends he made in detention back in high school: Kimberly, Trini, and Zack. They started over in a new city, found their causes together, but that doesn't exactly keep him out of the eyes of the government. At least he knows he's being watched, so he can make this as painful as possible for whatever poor NSA agent gets assigned his case.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from Keiynan Lonsdale's "F$ck With Your Mind" --- give it a listen. It inspired the mood of this.

Jason growls as he arches up off his chair into his fist, "Yeah. I bet ya like that, don't you? You fucking perv. I bet you're getting off to this right now. I hope you're getting paid minimum wage to have to sit through this... I mean, it'd be a little better with a living wage, right?"

The zipper on his jeans scrapes at Jason's knuckles as he slams his fist down over and over, the force of a punch. They're probably bloody, but the thought is so far down on his list of important things to consider in all of this. The least of his injuries.

His shoulder burns. Panting for breath. Licking at dry lips. He can feel the sweat sting his eyes and drip down his neck.

Jason's legs burn from trying to keep his desk chair from rolling across the room as he jerks his hips. Digging his sneakers into the floor to find any extra traction.

"You like this? Huh? This is what you're watching for, I bet. How many other monitors you got going right now? You perving on all of them?"

Jason spits down onto his dick, raw and angry and red and throbbing. And fuck he's going to regret this tomorrow, but let it be known that Jason Scott is not predisposed for rational decisions when his fuse has been lit. And fuck if there isn't a stick of dynamite in his chest. His pulse ticking pushing the gunpowder through his veins.

He looks up through his eyelashes, "Or am I special?"

All he can see is red. Red, and that little file he found tucked in his computer. The kind Zack had warned him to be paranoid about, and Jason laughed it off but he searched for anyway. Oh, but it was there wasn't it. Fuck the government.

He's getting too hot, and he's not sure if it's his head or how furiously he's working over his dick for the fuck head spying on him.

Jason is fucking redefining direct action.

He pulls the front of his shirt over his neck, exposing his toned torso. It pulls his head forward just slightly. A wave of his hair falls forward into his eyes, his glare into his laptop camera remains unaffected.

Jason's chest curls forward into his hand and he can feel the tension rising in his stomach. Feels it getting harder to breathe, bites down on his lip to prevent himself from gaping like a fish.

"Fuck you," he snarls through teeth, lip curled. "Fuck you, you goddamn sicko. I hope this gives you nightmares."

He squeezes himself around the base of his cock, his thumb working along the purpled flare of the tip. He sucks in air, releases his grip. Cum splashes across his abs, dick twitching out stream after stream.

Jason breaks his staring contest with the camera. Throws his head back and exhales. Collapses, boneless. Sinks into his chair.

"Fuck you," breathy and low.

He hisses sharply as his fingers brush over his abused dick, too much effort to have raised his arm higher and avoided it. He leaves trails behind his touch, over the hard ridges of his stomach, dragging through the sticky mess. Chest heaving, arm burning from being overworked. He clenches his fist.

The chair kicks out behind him, swift and abrupt. Sneakers shrieking as he jumps to his feet. Jason leans his face close to his camera, stare piercing. He hopes the person on the other side is having a very, very shitty day at work.

His filthy fingers pull down his bottom lip, bitten and swollen, exposes the imprints of teeth in the soft red flesh. As abused as the rest of him. His tongue swirls his cum-covered finger tips for an extra show.

A deep, wrecked laugh escapes him, more air from his gut than his actual voice.

"Bye bye, NSA spook."

He right clicks and deletes the file.

An involuntary sob falls from Jason when his jeans shift against his dick.

Shower, then nap, he decides. And maybe talk to Zack or Kim about the file before the group hang tonight.

Jason blindly kicks off his shoes, not caring that he's practically guaranteed to trip over them later. Strips off his shirt the rest of the way to the bathroom, leaving his pants on the floor outside the door.

Flipping on the shower head, Jason takes the moment until the hot water makes it way out the shower head to examine his damage. Nothing permanent, but it wouldn't feel good for a few days.

He steps into the shower. A guttural groan echoing off the tiles as the hot water pours over his sore muscles. He grasps the wall as his right knee gives way under his weight. His neck protests and he lets his head hang.

Water congregates at the tip of his nose before hitting the bottom of the green tub. He breathes through his mouth.

What he wants to know, is what the final tipping point was that led to him deserving NSA monitoring. Which bit did the Federal government finally take offense to... If he knew, he'd make sure to do it five times a day.

Inhale through mouth. Exhale through nose.

Jason's anger issues started in his senior year of high school. Young, arrogant, and impulsive, and ruined the only way he ever had to connect with his dad with a dumb prank.

Jail time didn't help with either his anger or his dad. He'd do it again in a second, even if it meant listening to Trini berate him for missing her birthday and spending the last 6 weeks of his sentence locked up all over again. Zack's mom died. Jason's dad didn't think a lawyer was a good investment.

He got out of jail, packed some of his shit, and dragged his friends out of the shithole town with him. Kim happily drove. South, along the coast.

Somewhere along the way, Kim and Trini realized matching Soul Marks had appeared on their calves. The two of them fell in love, were deemed Soulmates by the Powers That Be, and they all ended up in San Francisco trying to figure out life together.

The four of them ended up doing their own things, but had each other's back through it all. Jason's surprisingly useful community college certificate, Kimberly going to technical school online, Trini just wanting to work and make art, and Zack developing his YouTube channel.

He rolls his shoulder back, backtracks his mind. Pushes the water off his face. He puts some weight on his right leg again.

Was the small amount jail time enough to put him on the list? Maybe his work with Homes not Jails?

Or his most recent video upload. He had over 20 videos of questionable police behavior online under various pseuds. But the last one, a 14 year old Black girl being dragged to the ground by her hair. Yeah, that could probably do it. That one actually made the news, and he remembers a few people trying to contact him online for a statement.

He draws himself out of his head. The water has almost gone cold and he quickly lathers himself head to toe and rinses off.

Toweling off, Jason catches sight of himself in his mirror. Just stretches of pale skin with, tanner in some areas that actually see sunlight and a couple moles or patches of freckles. Rosy undertones stain his body and face in patches, telling the tale of a hot shower or maybe even remnants of his little show.

But no Mark. A personal failing of an emotionally unavailable mess. Marks are not, after all, limited to romantic love or even the number a person can have concurrently or in a lifetime. He's 24 and hasn't formed a single connection strong enough to reach him.

He forcefully reminds himself that he hasn't really branched out from his friend group since escaping Angel Grove. Yet according to the prevailing scientific theory of the moment, he hasn't let himself trust or be truly vulnerable with anyone enough to develop a Mark. Not even Zack, who he literally served time to be with as emotional support.

Alone and wet and cold, he's left to frown at himself in the mirror. However, if anyone asks him directly if he has ever dreamt about having _someone_ , Jason would laugh in their face.

His feet barely leave the ground as he makes his way to his bedroom. Exhausted. Alarm set, Jason falls back onto his bed. Naked, save for the towel still over his hair. The dust particles in the stream of dusky light from the curtain gap hold his attention until his eyes can't stay open.

 

*****

 

A few states away there exists a poorly lit cubicle, mostly due to the height of the false walls blocking any chance at sunlight reaching it from across the building.

A young man sits down at his desk. He also factors in that he voluntarily works a night shift. Less people, less noise, less interruptions. There is no beam of light, just a buzz of poorly located fluorescent bulbs and the distant, muffled clacking of fingers on keyboards.

He rearranges his current case files by importance, laying they side by side along the stretch of the work station. Not his ideal layout, but he accepted the layout when he was assigned here. His computer boots up. He gives the six files a satisfied smile, then swivels his chair and types in his password.

“Hey, Cranston,” his team leader, he quickly recognizes, before the man enters the opening. “Got a new one for you. Blame Hillard. She's refusing to take it.”

A folder is casually thrown on top of his others. He frowns up at DeSantos. Nods anyway, and the man walks away without any another word.

He puts the case number in his computer and starts to examine the electronic records of one Jason Lee Scott. A familiar name. Someone from his childhood back in California, his exceptional memory tells him. From before the bullying and Dad's death, it says.

The young man is now mildly interested. The new file gets shifted into first position.

An hour into his shift, he's hunched over his keyboard with headphones on. Not an unusual sight in the office by any means.

Watching the video at normal speed from behind his spread fingers, however? Not common.

When his new Person of Interest leaves the sight of the camera, he feels like he can breath again.

Is this really the Jason Scott who gave him his pudding cup and half his sandwich when Colt Wallace called him a freak and dumped his lunch tray in the trash?

If only his mom could see him now, he thinks. He mutters out a plea of forgiveness from his dad, and he opens up his command prompt to gain access to the laptop's files. Opening, searching, deleting, installing. 

This is not protocol, his mind yells at him. He ignores it. It's not actually illegal, and by the time he gets caught he's sure he'll have come up with a great reason.

He smiles to himself. He just found a great reason to rearrange his cubicle.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Jason wakes to the annoying buzz of his alarm at precisely 9pm. His first thoughts are somewhere along the lines of _Fuck, it's cold_. This is logical, considering he fell asleep naked with a wet towel on his head.

The towel gets thrown to the floor. His dick is aching. And worse, he went to bed with wet hair. Now he has to own those curls for the rest of the night.

He groans as his joints pop, but he does make it off the bed. So there's that little victory.

Jason flips the light switch and pinches his eyes closed while they adjust. His mind is the only thing marginally functional about him right now. But at least he has his plan down. Get dressed, brush teeth, fight his hair, and get the hell out the door where he doesn't have to even think about his electronic adventure from earlier. God, he needs to see his friends tonight.

T-shirt, plaid button down, underwear, jeans. Easy.

Not so easy. He whines and adjusts his junk inside the boxer briefs. He switches out the jeans picked for a looser pair and bounces into them. Delicate and gentle, careful not to jostle anything too much.

In the bathroom, he runs his fingers through waves of golden hair and shakes his head. It's not worth it.

Just the teeth brushing. A bluish foam sticks out the corners of his mouth when he glances into the mirror, he growls and mad dogs his own reflection. Jason almost chokes on toothpaste as he laughs at himself.

Jason makes his way to the living room. As he side-eyes his computer, he trips over a sneaker. Left knee giving out in the process, already sore from a long day. He falls into his computer chair, luckily, and bends down to grab both shoes to slip them on. He thinks about how much he misses Pearl when he does bunny ears to tie the laces.

With his good leg, he drags the chair back to the desk like an inchworm. The wireless mouse gets bumped. The computer screen flickers on. Other than the bathroom light left on down the hallway, it's the only light in the room.

He has to blink a few times to make sure he's really seeing this.

"What. The. Hell?"

On his home screen are those little sticky notes that Windows comes with but no one ever really uses. They're numbered.

"Are you serious?"

**1\. That wasn't one of our viruses, nor is that how you delete one, Jason.**   
**2\. I took the liberty of clearing out your other viruses the proper way.**   
**3\. Also, I installed a firewall a civilian probably should not own. Oops?**   
**4\. Jason, try to stay off the sketchy websites. That's where they came from.**   
**5\. And hey, are you alright? Because you're really beautiful and in different**   
**6\. circumstances I would probably ask you out. But honestly, Jason, that**   
**7\. looked like it really hurt. Take care of yourself, okay? -B**

Jason rubs his hands down his face and groans. He's overflowing with incredulousness. This can't be real. He's oddly grateful and weirdly embarrassed. Is this even standard? Is his NSA agent legitimately flirting with him?

"Am I hallucinating out of paranoia and stress, or am I not able to even hold my dick to take a piss without pain for absolutely nothing?"

Jason wants to scream. He grinds his teeth instead. He definitely does not need another noise complaint on him to his landlord. Even if it isn't his fault the apartment walls are paper thin.

He points at his laptop's camera, "I'm going out, _B_. I hope you're having a shitty night stuck in some damp basement."

Slamming his laptop closed, Jason books it for the door. Snatches his keys and wallet that were sitting on top of his police scanner on the way. He's still shaking his head in utter disbelief when he locks the door from the other side.

By the time he finds a parking spot for his truck and walks the block to Kim and Trini's apartment, Jason is absolutely sure he knows exactly what he is going to say. Then he opens the door and the smell of pizza metaphorically punches him in the face.

Kim body checks him into a hug, calling over her shoulder to Trini and Zack, "Jason's here, guys. At least say hi!"

They ignore him in favor of Smash Bros and Kim rolls her eyes. He follows her command when she waves him inside.

At the breakfast bar, Jason stacks slices of pizza onto a paper plate. He shrugs at Kim's raised eyebrow. He's a certified personal trainer now, he can do what he wants. He crosses the line separating the laminate from the carpet and settles in on the couch.

  
*********

Billy Cranston nods to Agent Adam Park as he sidesteps out of the breakroom, cup ramen in one hand and paper cup of rooibos tea in the other. From the distant look in Park's eyes as he attempts to smile, Billy suspects Park is about to guzzle an entire pot of coffee. He's one of the ones who isn't doing overnights voluntarily.

He pauses at the entry to his cubicle, unsure of where to eat in his newly rearranged space. He looks around, taking it all in and quickly decides that the spot his computer used to be is ideal.

He starts to eat his noodles as quietly as possible. Spinning them on his plastic fork four times before lifting them out of the hot water.

The lock screen on his computer flashed twice. Movement in one of the cameras he should be monitoring. Billy turns and types his password in with one hand and pulls his wireless headset up from his neck.

He opens the highlighted window of Jason Scott and smiles. He finds something oddly charming about the man. He knows he is being watched, and instead of getting paranoid and going off grid, the man is just angry and annoyed. Billy has to admit that he's rather attracted to _different_.

Billy sets his ramen down and takes his phone from his pocket. He double checks Jason's address and places an overnight Amazon order. If he moved the order up priority in a warehouse, he's not saying.

He sets his phone down. Claps. And turns back to his noodles and tea.

*********

They've gone a few rounds of "I'll play winner" by this point, and it's right around the time when it switches to "I'll play loser." This is interspersed with an all out bitch fest about their jobs and other people in their lives.

Jason, in fact, has just finished his tale of Mrs. Wheeler who cornered him for private training on his off hours. At her house. Where she clearly has gym equipment but has a gym membership anyway. _For the atmosphere_. Jason fake gags. They laugh.

It's mostly how these evenings go. Mostly. If it was the entirety, he doubts he'd be under government surveillance.

"Shit, J. Stop man-spreading so I can sit next to my girl."

Jason winces, tenderly shifting in his seat. He knows Kim is carefully watching now, having caught the wince. Trini flops down on the couch, blocking him from Kim's examination. She leans forward with an open mouthed grin.

"Jason Lee Scott! Did you get some? Deets. Now!"

"Oh-ho!" Of course this would be the thing to make Zack pause his and Kim's match. "Is J finally tapping some gym bunny or cougar?"

Jason pulls his hands down his face. "It's not like that. I don't pull from work and you know it."

And then Trini starts in on him with her big, deceptively innocent, puppy eyes. He shakes his head, but Kimberly crawls onto Trini to get in his face. Trini bites a boob that assaulted her face, and Kim swats her playfully.

"Look," Jason sighs. "This isn't like that."

Zack rests his chin on his fists, emphatically attentive and grinning like a fool.

"But you are admitting there is a _this_."

"Kim, let the man speak," Trini scolds and pulls the other woman down into her lap.

Jason takes a deep breath. The truth seems unbelievable. They'll freak out, they'll get stressed. He briefly wonders why he isn't stressed. All of it feels a little pathetic anyway. Might as well stay on that route. A half truth.

"It's an online thing. There's a uh... site. For people who... Jesus. People who like to watch. And the only thing I know about the person is the letter B as a signature."

There is silence. Jason's face begins to heat up. Oh god, this is somehow worse than the truth, isn't it? Zack's shoulders shake in aborted laughter.

"Dude. Like you do you and all that, no judgement for your kinks. You'll always my best bro, unless you're into kiddie shit. But, like, I'm going back to this game and living in a world where I pretend I didn't hear that."

Yep, Zack is laughing at him. Why didn't he claim a fake online dating thing? Jason is going to find a hole to crawl in and die.

"I mean, I kinda hoped you were dating someone, Jase. But, um, hey, if you're happy that's all that matters," Kim stumbled awkwardly over her words.

Jason feels his soul trying to leave his body.

She picks her pink controller up and shifts back into her original seat to rejoin Zack in the game.

Trini takes his hand, gives it a little squeeze.

"Honestly? I wanna hear more. Does this person tell you what to do? Cuz that'd be pretty hot. I love it when Kim tells me what to do, but I think a big part of that is her voice and body language when she does."

The last bit of his soul escapes him with an "Oh, my God." Trini just laughs.

By the time Jason leaves, he's fabricated enough story to put him in an early grave. Somehow this wasn't a one time thing, and he and Agent B apparently had developed a level of trust in some forums.

Stopped a a red light on the drive home, he faceplants his steering wheel. Before he can finish the dreaded thought, there's a honk behind him.

When he gets home, he carefully opens his laptop and waits for it to leave sleep mode. Inhale. No sticky notes anymore. Definitely no new ones. Exhale.

"So...? Do you watch me everywhere I go? Or is this just a communications monitoring thing? Because I might have implied to my friends that... " Jason points back and forth. "Um, have something more than this? Sorry. I, uh, got work in three hours... God, you're probably some gross neckbeard, too. What am I doing? Whatever. Goodnight, B."

Jason shuts the laptop again. He strips on the way to bed and is decidedly not looking forward to his class in the morning or the lunch hour training sessions. Forget the NSA. Housewives will be the death of him.

*********

When Billy sees the latest footage less than an hour before shift end, he has completely caught up in reading Jason's POI report. Apparently a past record and filming police brutality is enough to get on his departments radar. How exactly Jason is a threat to the government, Billy can only wonder. If he thinks Jason's a hero, that's not a thought he'd let himself have at work.

His smile takes the form of puffed cheeks and pursed lips, as though he wants to grin needs to hide his teeth.

He quickly types up an email to DeSantos. Locks his applications, shuts down the computer, and straightens his keyboard parallel to the edge of the desk. His wireless headset is hung on the charging stand, perfectly balanced. Jason's, and the files previously ordered 3-6 in importance get locked in his filing cabinet.

Billy puts his suit jacket back on and moves his glasses from their ceramic tray to his face. His particular brand of smile has yet to leave his face. Tucking the other two folders under his arm, he nearly skips out of his cubicle.

When he reaches the opening, two over and one up, with a name plate labeled "Katherine Hilliard" he sets the two folders down. She's not there, but he's sure she'll see them if he leaves them on her keyboard.

He continues walking, until he reaches the bathroom. The only place on whole floor with decent lighting.

Billy checks himself over. Loosens his blue and red tie, undoes the first button of his shirt. He stretches his neck, tilts his chin up. Smile for the camera. _Flash_.

If there's one thing that Billy can say about himself without fail, it's that he has a really good memory. Ten numbers in a new text message and the picture is sent. Accompanying the image is a little note that reads, "No beard on my neck. See?"

Billy Cranston goes home for the day. It was his first interesting day in a while, and he tells his dad all of it on the way home. His mom only gets snippets at breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Catch me tumbling @petty-dabbler-of-the-dark-arts

**Author's Note:**

> Catch me on tumblr @petty-dabbler-of-the-dark-arts


End file.
